


Man Is a Giddy Thing

by Melodious329



Category: Leverage
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-15
Updated: 2012-04-15
Packaged: 2017-11-03 17:31:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/384049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melodious329/pseuds/Melodious329
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the middle of the Great Depression and Prohibition, Nate finds a familiar face in the Carnival that comes to town.  Perhaps, he'll find more than that there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Man Is a Giddy Thing

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for LJ's thebigbangjob reverse big bang for errant_evermore's mix, The Science of Selling Yourself Short. 
> 
> Spoilers for season one of Leverage. 
> 
> Warnings for politically incorrectness of the time period including barebacking. 
> 
> Thanks to deanangst without whom this fic would not exist.

The trucks roll into the field outside of the small Midwest town like mythic beasts appearing out of a fog, roaring and stirring up clouds of dust that obscured them from sight. One by one, the trucks branch out from the caravan line to park in a semi-circle, a clump of trucks silently waiting as the dust settles, almost masking the lettering that says “Carnival”. 

Men immediately jump from the trucks, coming seemingly from all sides, all scurrying like ants building a city, each one having a job, a function, a place in this mini-society. Tents seemingly emerge from the dusty earth, billowing in the wind like a breathing thing, small dust colored tents, big colorful tents, and more and more people pile from the trucks standing guard like dragons looking after treasure. 

Nate takes another drink from a flask, shoving it back inside his jacket immediately as he walks, bandied about like a buoy on the waves by the crowd all heading toward the bright lights of the carnival, bare bulbs strung around the perimeter. He doesn’t know why he’s come, sometimes he feels like his life isn’t his own anymore. But he has nothing else to do with himself. Sam loved the Carnival. 

He wanders unseeing past the booths with popcorn and cotton candy, their smells wafting through the air luring these people who are tired of the depression’s austerity. He walks past the game booths filled with young lovers, overconfident young men determined to beat the system and win their love a prize to prove their suitability. He hurries past the ferris wheel that Nate doesn’t even want to look at because it’s filled with young boys and girls squished inside beside their parents, all smiles and excitement. 

The crowd takes him past all that to another set of tents with brightly colored banners on them. It takes him a moment to look past all of the other people to understand what he’s seeing, a sideshow tent. The banners depict the acts found inside, the freaks, the fat lady and the snake charmer and all the others that society has no use for. 

He’s digging in his pockets for ten cents. He’s got a little money, since he sold his house, no, their house, after…and why not. Maybe this is why he came, to see those even more unfortunate than himself. 

He looks up then in time to see the caller come out on a small raised platform above the crowd. He’s tall and thin, but loud as he tells the crowd all about the freaks inside, the crowd gasping and ahhing. Nate’s not impressed until another man joins him there on the stage, a shorter, broader man with long brown hair. He’s holding knives in his hands, Nate counts six before the long-haired man throws the first one in the air, all the others following behind, flying into the air only to come racing back down at the man. 

But it’s not the man’s dangerous juggling act that has Nate transfixed, it’s the man himself. The man isn’t even watching the rise and fall of the blades, sharp eyes are instead staring into the crowd. Blue eyes glow in the light of the electric bulbs as they meet Nate’s own eyes. The man is a freak in a traveling sideshow whether he was born deformed or not, but the man’s eyes meet his head-on, eyes too intelligent, measuring the Nate as if he can know Nate just from looking. Nate feels as if he’s the one on display, the freak. 

And it’s Nate who looks away, unable to stand the scrutiny. He looks away in time to see the curtains pulled aside, opening for the show. He’s jostled as people start piling inside, but even after the long-haired man’s unnerving stare, he follows them, handing over his ten cent like everyone else. 

He watches as the talker introduces each of the ten acts one by one. There’s Louise, the lobster girl. Nate watches her indifferent expression as she pushes dirty blonde hair back from her face with hands that only have two fingers, a thumb and another finger, like a claw. Then there’s Clyde, the turtleman, who’s a black man with no arms and no legs pulled out on stage in a wheelbarrow. Nate listens as the caller tells them about his childhood, how Clyde learned to use his mouth and then watches the demonstration. Nate can’t imagine if Sam had been born like that. But he knows it would be better than Sam being dead. 

Then there’s Alice the world’s fattest woman, and the Chase sisters, joined at the hip. They play the piano each with one hand, the other arm wrapped around each other and shoot identical coy smiles over their individual shoulders before standing. There aren’t many working acts, just a young blonde girl named the rubber girl who threads herself through a coat hanger and then the man from the bally, the outside stage, is back. 

The long-haired man holds himself confidently, looking out at the crowd as if to say that it’s not him who’s the outcast. Only after a few long seconds, then the man takes a long sword from scabbard belted on his hip. He slashes the sword through the air a few times, letting the audience hear it cut through the air and see his skill. Then he’s carefully pointing the sword at an audience member, letting a pretty young girl touch it, before it’s disappearing down his throat. Nate can’t help but recoil a bit. He can’t understand what would prompt a person to attempt that.

Yet Nate’s disappointed when the long-haired man disappears again, replaced by a tiny doll of a woman and then a dog-faced boy of only about 7 years with hair all over his face supposedly raised by wolves. The boy even gives a good bark. 

Feeling frustrated rather than better, Nate takes another long drink from the flask and skips the blowoff featuring two dark-skinned women in skimpy costumes.  
Instead, he heads outside, but he doesn’t know if he got what he came for, doesn’t know what he was looking for. He certainly doesn’t feel any better about his own sad life looking at these freaks. The freaks seem to be more in control of their lives than he is. 

He’s taking the fifth sip from his flask in five minutes when the door to one of the painted trailers suddenly opens. All he can see at first is a woman outlined in bright light, but then he sees she’s dark-haired and dark-eyed. It’s when she looks at him that he recognizes the beautiful woman. Sophie…

“Let me tell you future,” she offers him, her eyes already offering more than that. 

But it’s the joking mention of the future that stops him from accepting. He’s taking another, bigger, gulp from his flask before he even thinks about it, the burning liquid barely registering as his temper flares. “I don’t have a future,” he spits petulantly. 

“Everyone has a future,” she cajoles. “Perhaps yours is just different than you thought.”

“Look,” he says, his voice getting louder as he points one indignant finger at the fortune teller. Like she has any idea what he’s going through. “I don’t want…”

“Is this man bothering you?” a voice interrupts. 

Nate is so drunk that when he turns his head to see the man who interrupted, his vision blurs like he just spun around. “She’s bothering me. Who the hell’re you?”

As soon as the man’s hand grabs his jacket, Nate’s striking out. He does it without thinking, but when the man punches his face, there’s something satisfying about that too. It hurts, but he knows not as much as it should. He stumbles back when the fist hits his face again and then he’s falling over, watching the world tip nauseatingly. Hitting the ground like a sack of rocks, Nate expects the pain to continue and he squeezes his eyes shut against it. 

It seems a long time with nothing happening before he opens his eyes again. He flails pathetically on the dusty ground in a useless attempt to get up and then the long-haired man’s face swims into this line of vision. Then Sophie’s face joins it. 

***

“We should get him up.”

“Let him rest.”

“You know this guy?”

“Yes, years ago, but he wasn’t…”

“He’s in my bed.”

The voices filter slowly through the pain in Nate’s head, but he can’t keep from moaning as he blinks open crusted eyes. He feels a hand on his arm immediately, but he closes his eyes again before trying to sit up. 

Something hard bumps his shoulder, “Have some water.”

Nate fumbles for the glass, blinking his eyes to clear them. It’s the long-haired man holding the glass that he takes gratefully. He’s already gulping it down as he cuts his eyes to his other side, seeing Sophie standing there. 

“Who is this guy?” the man asks while Nate’s mouth is busy. 

“Nathan Ford,” Sophie says, her British accent making her words sound crisp. “Newspaper man, we met...a few years ago.”

“Sniffed out what you were up to, din’t he?” the man grumbles with his arms now crossed which just makes the man look bigger and more intimidating. 

“I did,” Nate says, joining the conversation despite that he feels at a disadvantage still sitting. “She was tricking this man…”

“Sounds like her,” the long-haired man interrupts. 

Nate pauses then nods and takes another long drink from the glass, finishing it off. 

“Well, you didn’t used to be so…” she accuses, her voice trailing off as her hands flaps at him as if encompassing his whole being. 

“Drunk?” the man interjects. 

Nate doesn’t bother denying it as he sets the glass aside. But then Sophie is sitting down next to him on the bed, her voice suddenly gentle as she asks, “Where’s Maggie?”

“Gone,” Nate starts simply, cutting his eyes away from Sophie’s ridiculous sympathy. “Moved back with her parents.”

Sophie makes a small, indecipherable noise and Nate is still too afraid to look at her, afraid to see some mixture of relief or excitement or pity or anything else. 

And then she asks the question he’s been dreading since he saw her. “She took Sam with her?”

“No,” Nate says, his voice harsh. “Sam’s…gone.”

“Oh, Nate,” Sophie cries like a wounded bird and her hand is on his shoulder. 

He shrugs off the hang immediately, reaching inside his coat pocket to grab his flask. He takes another sip but he can’t help saying, “He didn’t have to die. He shouldn’t have died. That rat bastard…” he cuts himself off to take another drink.

“Who?” the long haired man, suddenly interjects, his voice even rougher than Nate’s own. 

“Blackpoole,” Nate grits out, almost grateful to the still unnamed man for changing the direction of the conversation. 

“The newspaper tycoon?” the man asks at the same time as Sophie asks, “Your boss?”

The answer is the same. “Yes,” Nate says. Shaking his head, he tries to throw off these thoughts but they come pouring out of his mouth. “I thought Sam would be safe with him, I had known Ian for years. There was an accident and he left Sam bleeding to death rather than have his side business discovered.”

He can hear Sophie’s horror behind him, but he looks at the man in front of him. The man’s still got his arms crossed but he looks tense, poised to strike. He’s interested in what this man will say next. 

“Booze?” the man asks simply, already having figured it out. 

“Yep, he’s illegally making and selling booze,” Nate says, a self-deprecating smirk on his face as he takes another drink of the liquor in his flask. “Guess it’s more profitable nowadays than the newspaper business.”

Nate can’t help but remember that day, when he finally got to the physician’s office, it was only to watch his son dying in agony, looking practically bloodless. There was nothing to be done, an accident. But the doctor told him later that had the boy gotten attention sooner, Sam wouldn’t have died. Ian said that he lost track of the boy, but Nate could always tell when someone was lying. It hadn’t taken him long to find out what had happened. That Ian had let Sam bleed so that he could finish loading up the booze, getting it away so that no one would know what he had been doing when the boy fell. 

He’s bringing the flask to his lips again when Sophie’s hand is there, preventing him. “I don’t need your sympathy,” he growls at her. 

“You don’t need sympathy,” she says, a statement strange enough that he turns his face to look at her, surprised to see that mischievous, scheming look on her face that was what he had loved about her back then. 

“You need revenge,” the other man utters, finishing her sentence. 

Nate whips his head around at the words. The man has an utterly predatory expression on his face, like an animal gearing up for a fight.

Nate looks back at Sophie, confused at seeing the pair of them utterly serious. Against his better judgment, he thinks back to when he met Sophie. She had been pretending to be someone that she wasn’t, taking that rich man’s money, and then left him humiliated. Frankly, it sounds like a good plan to use against Blackpoole. 

“And I know just the people to help us,” Sophie continues, getting off the bed. 

“Who?” the man asks, uncrossing his arms and taking a step toward her. 

“Hardison, and Parker,” she says easily. 

“Parker’s crazy,” the man says shocked. 

Sophie just continues out of the tent. Nate however, just barely prevents himself from blurting out that none of them can be that sane and work in a sideshow. But that just makes his head hurt when he realizes that he’s taking their help. 

“Wanna grab somthin’ for breakfast?” the man’s voice breaks through his fog. 

“Who’re you?” Nate asks, not caring that it sounds rude. 

But the man doesn’t take offense. Instead one side of the man’s lips quirk up in a funny smile. “Eliot Spencer,” he says easily. “Now, c’mon.”

Nate feels about a hundred years old as he drags his aching body from the bed to follow the man. But he hurries to catch up and is surprised to find that Eliot isn’t even as tall as him. 

The sun hurts his eyes as they step outside the dusty tent and he almost trips in sudden blindness but Eliot doesn’t slow down for his weakness. It’s disconcerting, and yet somehow comforting not to have another person making excuses for him. 

The tent was apparently in the carnies’ living area behind the Carnival proper. Where the Carnival is all brightly painted banners and bright lights and loud music, this area is just as dusty and devoid as color as the town its near. They walk past other beige tents barely blowing in the wind and lines of clothes drying in the sun and men shouting as they work. 

Still, Nate isn’t comfortable with the silence after waking up with this man staring at him. “So, you work in the sideshow?” Nate starts awkwardly, not having a clue what to say to this man. 

Eliot only gives him an easy look, nothing about his demeanor showing any shame over his position here. And then Eliot stops walking abruptly. 

It takes Nate a moment to realize the reason, that a little girl had run at Eliot. It’s not til Eliot kneels down to be on the girl’s level that Nate realizes that it’s not a little girl at all, but the pinhead from last night. 

Nate recoils a bit, putt off-guard at the sight of her in the morning sunlight as if she should be something that only comes out at night. It’s not a girl at all, but a woman with a shrunken head, billed last night as the “Last of the Aztecs”. Her eyebrows are practically in her hairline because there’s simply less forehead than normal people. Her chin is weak and her front teeth protrude over her bottom lip. He watches the interaction intently. 

She hands over a wooden horse with one leg missing. “The horse got broken?” Eliot asks even though the answer is obvious. 

Nate flinches when she grunts, making some strange set of noises in approximation of communicating. Or maybe she’s just grunting. Whether the noises are with intent or not, Eliot seems to understand. 

“It’s ok,” Eliot soothes her. “I’ll make you another horse, but I also have…” Eliot seemingly draws out the anticipation as he reaches into his trouser pocket and pulls out a small carved elephant. 

The girl squeals loudly, the high pitched noise cutting into Nate’s still throbbing head. But then Eliot’s patting her hip and she’s running off toward a middle aged woman holding a basket of clothes. The woman smiles at Eliot who waves back at her as he stands up again. 

Eliot starts walking immediately and when he speaks to Nate, his voice holds none of the warmth it did seconds earlier. “If we don’ hurry, there’ll be none left.”  
Nate can’t help watching the man for a second as they begin walking again. Eliot seems relaxed, comfortable and confident in this space, this community of the broken and discarded. But Eliot’s eyes are too alert, seemingly aware of everything, looking for a threat. He never looks directly at Nate as they walk but Nate is certain the other man is aware of his perusal. 

These people are a mystery, a challenge. Nate is interested like he hasn’t been for a long time. Nate’s own actions are interesting. Why hasn’t he left? Why is he waiting for Sophie to get these two other freaks, trusting them to help him get revenge? Trusting them to follow his lead? Why does he keep staring at this man next to him, somehow captivated?

He ducks his head then, realizing that he isn’t just captivated by the man’s mysteries but by the way the wind blows through long hair and the sun gilds rough bronze skin. He’s just feeling entirely off kilter since the carnival came into town. 

They reach a sitting area consisting of wooden tables and benches under the shade of an open-sided tent. Eliot motions him to a seat at an empty table while Eliot goes off to a long table where a huge woman serves up bowls of what looks like gruel. 

Nate takes the opportunity to look around at the rest of the people eating. Most of them are normal looking, just hardened men wearing overalls covered with dust and sweat, eating or taking a break from the heat. There are a few women, their hair lighter with a coating of dust wearing loose and shabby dresses. 

But there are a few of the others. Nate watches the lobster girl from the night’s show eating her gruel with a spoon clasped in her two fingered hand, chatting with the fat lady. The bearded lady sits on the edge of the tent area smoking a cigarette and wearing just a satiny green robe, her auburn hair looking freshly curled. Nate can’t help watching as the cigarette reaches her lips, painted bright red but surrounded by also reddish coarsely curling hairs. 

Nate is startled out of his perusal when Eliot sets the bowls down hard on the table along with two cups of water and a mug of coffee. Nate’s impressed he managed to carry it all by himself. Eliot digs right into the food without hesitation, his elbows on the table as if he’s guarding the bowl. But Nate takes his first bite cautiously. The taste is fine, neither terrible nor delicious. 

Eliot inhales half of his bowl before he speaks again. “So you’re a newspaper man?” he asks, pointing at Nate a little with his spoon. 

“Was,” Nate corrects. 

“Right,” Eliot confirms nodding. “Well, you must be pretty smart like Sophie said. Bet you wished you’d been more suspicious of your boss, though, huh?”

Nate clenches his jaw so that he doesn’t throw the damn bowl of gruel at the other man. “Look, Eliot. We’re not friends, alright.”

Eliot looks momentarily taken aback and then his body subtly tenses. The smile on Eliot’s face is mocking and yet somehow self-deprecating as he nods. “Right, because I’m sure you have so many.”

Then the man stands up, taking one last bite of his gruel before leaving it in a bin at the long serving table. 

Leaving Nate sitting there alone and awkward, wondering what he was even still doing here. Carnivals conned people out of their hard won money. And here he was thinking about doing something undoubtedly illegal with them. 

Scowling now at himself, he reaches inside his jacket for his flask, only now realizing that he’d been so far too interested in his surroundings to drink down the entire bottle as he often does in the mornings. Shaking his head, he takes a sip and then gets up, shielding his eyes as he leaves the shade of the tent. He attempts to backtrack his way to where he woke up, intending to tell Eliot or Sophie or whoever’s there that he isn’t interested in their help. If he’s going to get revenge, he’ll do it himself. 

He’s pretty sure he’s found the right tent, but most of the tents seem to be virtually identical. And there’s no one inside, so he circles the tent only to stop in his tracks at the sight he finds, all thoughts of leaving in an angry huff floating away like so much mist in the sun. Eliot is bending his head over a bucket sitting on a barrel and splashing water on his chest and down his golden, muscular back. 

Nate doesn’t know what has happened to him since yesterday that he’s rendered immobile staring at the man. He watches the bunch of Eliot’s bicep as the man scrubs his face, and then Eliot’s hand moves down over the curve of a hairless chest. It makes Nate suddenly wish it was his own hand. Then Eliot’s tossing his hair back from his face and Nate wants to tangle his fingers in the fluffy curls. 

But the movement causes Nate to notice something else. Eliot leans over the bucket again and the muscles in his back roll with the movement, throwing the scars on the tan skin into relief, long pale lines down Eliot’s back. He’s still staring at them when Eliot is pulling on worn-thin off-white shirt with the sleeves already rolled up. 

Mesmerizing skin now covered, Nate jerks back to himself in time to notice how stiffly Eliot moves to throw the bucket of now dirty water out onto the ground, presumably cross at Nate’s staring. 

Still, Nate is going to ask. “How’d you get those scars?”

Eliot turns to glare at him, then pushes his hair out of his face as Nate has noticed is a nervous tell. 

“Spent time on a ship, I was shanghaied,” Eliot answers which is a surprise to Nate. 

But Nate’s confused by the southern accent that accompanies that response. “I didn’t realize that happened in the South,” he continues skeptically. 

But Eliot doesn’t seem annoyed by the continued questions, now he almost seems a little impressed. “I was in California, wanted to check out opportunities before…before marrying my fiancé. Then ended up in the French Foreign Legion…”

Eliot trails off then, obviously uncomfortable with the story, almost…ashamed it seems. 

“What happened to the fiancé?” Nate can’t help asking. 

“She married someone else,” Eliot growls before pushing his shoulder past Nate to go into the tent. 

Things seem to just get more and more interesting. As far as Nate knows Sophie has always been what she is, but apparently Eliot used to just be a country boy looking for a new adventure out west. Curioser and curioser…

The tent flap swingss back in his face, closing after Eliot. When Nate has pulled it open again, he sees that Sophie is back with the two other people. One is “Rubber girl” that he had seen at the sideshow last night, and the other is a tall black man that he doesn’t recognize. 

Sophie looks at him smugly even though the blonde girl is standing so close as to be practically on Sophie’s feet, scrutinizing her. Nate isn’t totally sure what to think of that but Eliot makes a half-coughing, half-choking sound like his mind went to two beautiful women and not the blonde’s strange behavior. 

The blonde takes a big sniff of Sophie’s hair before finally turning to acknowledge Nate. “We’re really gonna steal something?” the blonde asks. “Because they never let me,” she finishes with a pout, folding her tiny arms on her chest. 

“Well, that’s because we don’t want to be banned from coming back,” the black man says sensibly. But then he’s backtracking when the blonde girl turns to glare at him. “But hey, I mean, I like…”

“Who’re you?” Nate says loudly, having had enough chatter. 

Both younger persons simply turn to stare at him with wide eyes as if they’d forgotten him entirely. Nate figures that they’re not accepting of outsiders just as many towns are not accepting of carnival folk. 

Fortunately, Sophie steps in then with a gracious air. “This is Parker. She can get into any space and pick any lock. This is Alec Hardison, the carnival’s engineer. He keeps the lights and rides working as well as he can forge any document or ID.”

“Hey now,” the black kid, Hardison, speaks up with attitude. “Let’s not just tell random people that.”

“He’s not a random person,” Sophie says kindly. “This is Nate, and he’s a mastermind.”

Nate meets her brown eyes filled with both pride and a challenge. He wasn’t at all sure what she had told the other two to make them come or how susceptive they will be to listening to him. The blonde seems more interested in the idea of stealing in itself, while the black kid may actually want to help but is more worried about himself. 

Of course as he watches the way that the black kid’s eyes follow the blonde’s movements, he thinks Hardison may in fact just be here to impress the girl. 

With introductions made, they manage to corral everyone to sit at one of the tables under the food tent. The area is mostly deserted, everyone at the Carnival involved in their own tasks by now. Nate ends up sitting between Sophie and Eliot on one bench and facing the two younger members of this team. 

“Alright,” Nate begins. “The mark is Ian Blackpoole. He runs alcohol in the Midwest and through to the west. He’s got a stranglehold on a couple families who’ve been making moonshine and cuts out any competition. He also buys high end liquor from Europe from the mob in New York. That’s where he’s vulnerable.”

“Ooh, I get to be a mob wife,” Sophie interjects. “I’ve got this fur stole that I’ve wanted to wear forever...”

“Hold on,” Nate says. He can just barely see Eliot’s smirk out of the corner of his eye. 

“First, we need to find out when his next shipment is coming and intercept it. Parker, I assume that you can steal the list from his home,” Nate explains. 

“Pssht, it’s like taking candy from a baby, actually, it’s easier because babies cry when you take things…” Parker rambles. 

Nate shakes his head to clear it. “Then we’ll need to intercept the next shipment. Should be soon,” he continues. 

“I can do it,” Eliot speaks up. 

Nate looks at him. Of course, Eliot is strong, but... “We don’t even know how many guys there’ll be,” he says. 

Eliot smirks at him again. “Only as many as can fit in the cab of a truck. Don’t worry. I learned a lot of different techniques in the legion, done a lotta things,” Eliot trails off again, some emotion like shame or sadness coloring the pride that had initially been in his voice. 

Nate nods. “Ok, Eliot will get the shipment. We need to switch the bottle labels so he won’t know we just stole the shipment. Hardison?”

“Well, I gotta get the right ink, see? And I need time to change them all,” Hardison flusters. 

“Can you do it?” Nate asks firmly. 

“Yeah, man, I can do it. Course, I can do it,” Hardison says, now defending his pride. 

“Great,” Nate says, biting down all the annoyed words he wants to say. “Sophie, you’ll sell a box or two of the shipment at a lower price to one of his customers.  
Blackpoole’ll be around to see you probably before the day’s out.”

“Then what?” Sophie asks. 

“Then we sell him a new route, faster and cheaper shipments,” Eliot jumps in knowing the shipping routes just as Nate was counting on. 

“Exactly,” Nate agrees. “Then make a meeting to sell him the rest of the shipment and make sure that the FBI are there at the same time with him and the booze.”

“Yeah, that sounds simple,” Hardison huffs. 

But there are no serious objections. Instead everyone scatters to get started, leaving only Parker and Nate at the picnic table as he tries to draw out what he knows of the layout of Blackpoole’s house. Since he can’t be seen near Blackpoole, Nate will stay at the Carnival and Eliot will drive her tonight. 

He starts sketching in silence, but she seems bored immediately, shifting in her seat and huffing loudly. He gets the feeling that she will probably take off before he can explain it to her. And when he thinks back to his earlier conversation with Eliot, he tells himself that he needs to get to know these people’s abilities anyway. 

“Rubber girl, huh?” he asks while keeping his eyes on the page so not to scare her off. “How’d you learn that?”

He can still see her shrug though. “I was always good at it. The women at the orphanage were always yelling at me for it when I was small. Here they taught me how to make it a show though,” she says in a bored tone. 

“You enjoy it here?” he can’t stop himself from asking though it has nothing to do with their task. 

It’s not like she’s a pinhead whom some might argue should be in an institution. He just wonders how these freaks feel being a show. 

But she just stares at him blankly for a moment. “Of course, I can be me here. Even though they won’t let me steal most of the time,” she explains. 

“It doesn’t bother you? People staring at you?” Nate asks. 

“No, they only wish they could do it too,” she says it like a child and then steals a piece of paper and his pencil. 

Nate sighs audibly himself and tries to explain his crude houseplan while she draws what might be a bunny in the corner of the page. He just manages to finish explaining just as Eliot comes walking back up to them. He’s dressed in a blue flannel shirt and has his hair tied back, presumably an attempt to look more like a townsperson. 

“You ready, girl?” Eliot asks. 

Nate isn’t sure that she has listened to anything he’s said but she jumps up immediately in excitement. “Yes! Can I take his money too? What if he has sweets, can I take them?” she asks excitedly. 

Eliot looks stunned by her excitement. “There is something wrong with you,” he says in a low growl. 

Nate has to hold in the laugh. “No, you absolutely can’t take anything else this time. He can’t know that anything was taken and the more you take, the more likely he is to notice,” he explains. 

She pouts as she stands up from the table and begins walking after Eliot. Nate doesn’t let her get far though.

“Can I have my wallet back?” Nate asks, casually, standing up from the bench himself.

She frowns at first, not wanting to give it back, but then she smiles and flounces over. She seems almost glad that he noticed. Testing him may actually be the most rational thing she’s done, Nate thinks. 

Finally alone again, Nate takes a deep breath then pulls out his flask. He’s running low. He’s already thinking of being able to slip a bottle from the shipment tomorrow. 

The thought stops him in his tracks. He’s going to steal a bottle of alcohol from a stolen shipment of alcohol. In the past, he’s gone a little outside the rules, but it’s always been in the search for truth, for justice. He’s convinced himself to go along with this whole plan assuming it’s only by going outside the law himself that he can hope to gain justice for his son. Do the means justify the end, that it’s to prevent the same fate for another kid, to prevent Blackpoole from continuing to profit from illegal activity?

But stealing alcohol for himself is not in the pursuit of justice. Is this the slippery slope? Does taking one bottle from an illegal shipment hurt anyone?

Nate sighs and stands up, wondering what to do with himself. After selling their home, he’d taken a few of his clothes and paid for a rented room for a few days. But recently, he’d as often spend the night at the bar, or in the gutter outside the bar as pay for the room. 

He’s surprised when Sophie walks up to him. She looks gorgeous in the dying light, the bulbs of the Carnival now seeming like fireflies dancing around her. He doesn’t deserve how happy she looks to see him. He’s dirty and drunk. 

“You’ll stay here again tonight, won’t you?” she asks, sounding hopeful though he’s just thankful that she isn’t pushing him about what a failure he’s become now.  
Nodding, he moves around the table to her side and they begin to walk towards the ‘entertainment’ side of the Carnival. It’s busier and noisier now, townspeople crowding in to escape their dull, drab lives for a while. 

He’s more interested in watching Sophie though, seeing the lights reflected in her dark clear eyes, following the elegant curve of her bare throat and the way she shifts her shawl up over her shoulders in response to the cooler evening. She’s just as beautiful as when he first saw her. 

Chasing her, trying to get ahead of her back then had been the most exciting thing that he’d experienced in years. Sophie was flirtatious and free in a way that perhaps he envied then. She was also smart and quick-witted. She seemed a lot like him. 

Not that his affection for her had stopped him from pursuing her whole-heartedly. And nothing had happened between them back then, he would never step out on Maggie. But he saw her a few more times, and the flirtation continued. 

They stop at a barely familiar colorful trailer. It’s painted with astrological symbols advertising her apparent ‘skill’. Sophie turns her face towards him with a coy smile on her full lips, her sharp cheekbone catching the light as she beckons that he follow her inside. 

The inside is as much a con as all of Sophie’s costumes, filled with colorful seeming homemade throw pillows and a partition of beads that jangle just at the movement of the trailer as they enter. Still, it’s strange to sit across from her at the small table where she plies her trade. 

“Here it is,” she says with a self-satisfied smile as she hands the ledger over. “The next shipment’s tomorrow.”

Nate takes the ledger stoically. It’s so strange. These people are so excited by the thrill of breaking the law, of using their freakish talents. And he can’t deny how his own heart rate speeds up. It’s so similar to how he felt when he was trying to break a story, to uncover the truth. He never totally followed the rules, but that was for a legal job. He’d never just thrown out the rules before. Never simply substituted his own rules. 

“Great, I’ll go with Eliot tomorrow,” he says instead of all the thoughts running through his head. He needs to focus on getting Blackpoole, that’s it. 

“Do you really think that’s such a great idea? What if your description gets back to Ian?” she asks, worried about him as she always is. 

But he can’t help how it irritates him. If he’s the mastermind then she needs to trust his decisions. 

“I’m going with him,” he says simply. “So what do you do here? Fortune telling?” he asks to change the subject. “You’re not exactly psychic.”

She laughs, light and bright. “Of course not,” she starts. “I don’t read the future, I read the customer. Some want their hopes confirmed, whereas some are happier hearing that the worst will happen so they can stop dreading it.”

Nate laughs a little himself. She’s still the same, and he’s glad for that. 

“Let me read your future,” she says coyly. “Touch the cards.”

Nate thinks that the cards aren’t all that she’s inviting him to touch, but he plays along, cutting the deck quickly. 

She puts the two piles back together and draws the first card. “The tower,” she says while he stares at it. 

It doesn’t look good, portraying an ominous stone tower where birds flying around it like vultures. 

“It’s not bad,” she explains, reading his face. “It represents change, waking you up from your complacency.”

Nate nods slowly. Sitting here in a trailer at a Carnival is certainly a change, but he’s not sure that he likes where this is going. He knows what Sophie wants for the future. 

She turns over a second card showing an old regal looking man. “It’s the wizard who represents your potential in the present, your own ability to change your life, to be in control.”

Nate shifts and glares at her. If she’s talking about his drinking, or his going with Eliot tomorrow, he doesn’t want to hear it. 

“Last card,” she says turning a third over. She laughs as soon as she sees it. The meaning of this one is pretty clear, a man and a woman embracing, twined around each other, both naked but with plants covering their modesty like Adam and Eve. “The lovers…”

Nate is growling and standing up before she’s finished the sentence. He doesn’t say anything in response, simply leaves. 

It’s too soon. Maggie hasn’t been gone that long. Sam is still…he couldn’t love anyone else. Sophie is beautiful and they had a connection, but more than that…There’s only getting Blackpoole, then she’ll move on, the Carnival, all of them will move on, and Nate will…He can’t be that wholesome person anymore, can’t be what  
she wants him to be. 

Nate is fumbling for his flask when he runs into a hard object. The flask hits the ground, spilling out his last precious drops of scotch. 

“Goddammit!” he curses down at the tarnished metal object, immediately bending over to pick it up without sparing a glance at what he ran into. 

Only to then knock his head against something else hard as he bends over. Holding his head, he straightens up and is surprised to look down to see Eliot picking up his flask for him. 

“Sorry,” Eliot says with a casual shrug, not looking very apologetic. “I’ve got some more of that I’d be willing to share though.”

It’s amazing how much better that sentence makes Nate feel. Lured by the promise of more booze, possibly a lot more booze, Nate follows Eliot back to the same tent. Eliot seems to know everything about the Carnival, every nook and cranny, moving through it this world like Nate used to move through this town, confident and aware. Eliot seems to pull a bottle and two glasses from nowhere. 

Nate downs the glass before falling back onto the bed on his butt. When he extends his glass for another shot, Eliot raises one expressive eyebrow but doesn’t say anything as he refills Nate’s glass. 

Savoring the next sip with his eyes closed, Nate opens them to see Eliot now sitting on a barrel, watching him and sipping slowly. 

The stare has Nate shifting on the bed uncomfortably. Unlike Sophie, he doesn’t know Eliot well enough to read him yet.

“So how’d you learn to swallow swords?” Nate deflects, his voice hoarse. 

“I’m good with weapons,” Eliot says, his voice even huskier from the whiskey. 

But it doesn’t answer Nate’s question. “With your hands, not your stomach,” Nate continues, teasing. 

Eliot just looks back at him with that coy mischievous little boy look, so much like Sophie and Nate’s gut clenches. 

And just like that Nate realizes that he’s not angry anymore. He likes Sophie but sometimes she pushes too hard. They both do. 

Eliot takes another sip of his drink, finishing the amber liquid. And then he’s rising smoothly from his seat, putting the wooden barrel in a corner. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” Eliot finally says and then he’s leaving, leaving the bottle behind though Nate doesn’t know if that’s intentional. 

But Eliot doesn’t go far. Nate watches Eliot’s shadow on the wall of the tent. Eliot stops right outside, lit by the flickering lights of the midway, his head bowed in contemplation. 

But Nate doesn’t know contemplation of what. He’s learned a lot of these people’s abilities and how to direct them in a plan, but not their pasts. 

Nate’s still looking when Eliot’s joined by Sophie, her profile instantly recognizable to him. Her voice floats to him but then she and Eliot are walking off together, their heads still bent close in conversation. Nate’s momentary tempted to pursue them, but he stays where he is. Eliot’s so different. He still wears boots and his hair is too long, and then Sophie doesn’t want to admit that she’s been in love with him, and it’s too much. 

Downing the rest of his drink, Nate lies down, hoping for a dreamless sleep. 

When Nate wakes the next morning, it’s to see a bowl of water and breakfast already waiting for him. It feels like no one here ever sleeps, there’s always the noise of people around him. 

He has to leave the tent to get hot coffee though, and he manages to find his way back to the food tent. He nods politely at Clyde in his wheelbarrow and the older woman with him, helping Clyde with his food. Nate tries to keep his eyes to himself afterward, but he hasn’t even finished pouring when Eliot is beside him again, holding his own cup of something that doesn’t smell like coffee. 

“We should get going in the next ten minutes,” Eliot says quietly. 

Nate nods, letting the burning liquid sear his throat before he takes a good look at the man beside him. Eliot is tense in a way that’s almost unnoticeable. It seems all of them get excited for their part in the con, each in their own way. 

Still Eliot lets him sit and drink his coffee, not even Eliot’s fingers on the coffee cup giving away his tension. Nate thinks about last night, the sight of Sophie and Eliot together. The two at the very least seem to respect each other but is there more, he wonders. 

The thought makes his head hurt. If they are together, he’s not even sure which one he’s jealous of. The Carnival has its own rules and it feels that the longer that he stays the less he remembers the laws and morals of the outside world. It’s just for Blackpoole, he tells himself again. 

Eventually, Eliot just swigs the last of his coffee and stands, “Let’s go.” Just like that. 

They end up on a semi-deserted road outside town. It is still early, the light softly filtering through the few trees flanking the road. Eliot parks the carnival’s truck right in the middle of the road, no way to get around him. 

They don’t talk as they wait, and it’s easy and comfortable despite that slight tension in the air. And then without a word, Eliot is getting out of the car and pulling up the truck’s hood. A minute later, Nate can hear another car approaching. 

The driver is a large man with a beard who hangs his head out of the window to yell at Eliot. But Eliot doesn’t yell back, he simply turns with a grin and his hands up. Three men get out of the other truck then. 

Even with three men circling him, Eliot has his hands on hips, looking around in fake casualness. One man approaches first, putting a hand on Eliot’s shoulder, like this might still be a misunderstanding. But Eliot jerks the hand over his shoulder and breaks the man’s elbow with his other hand. The driver grabs Eliot from behind then, wraps his arms around Eliot’s shoulders. 

Nate startles when Eliot slams the driver’s back into the Carnival truck, next to Nate’s open window. Nate watches as the man loosens his grip in response, Eliot swivels around, one arm swiping down the man’s upraised hands and the other elbows the driver in the face. The third man seems apprehensive as he finally approaches and Eliot simply punches him hard in the face. 

Nate’s shocked and impressed as he sits dumbly in the Carnival truck as Eliot one by one pulls the three big men’s unconscious bodies over the treeline. Eliot didn’t even take a punch. Nate’s starting to think that these Carnies, this team really is quite capable. He can’t help but think of all the corruption that he’s covered over the years in the newspaper and how these people, under his guidance, could really make a difference. 

He’s jerked back to reality at Eliot’s voice. “Okay, drive it back to the Carnival and park it with the others.”

Nate parks the Carnival truck with the others and walks to the very back where he knows Eliot parked the other truck. He walks up to discover that Hardison has set up his own workspace back there. 

“Dammit, Hardison!” Nate hears before he can see either man. 

“You should be in a better mood. You got to hit someone,” Nate hears Hardison retort. 

Nate has the incongruous urge to chuckle at the two men’s antics, acting like brothers squabbling. He’s glad he holds the impulse in when Eliot storms past him back toward the Carnival. 

The bottles in the truck clank ominously, getting Nate’s attention. Walking over, Nate sees the kid’s back end sticking out of the truck. 

“What the…” Hardison’s voice filters out to him amidst the clanking. “Y’all honestly think…”

“What are you on about?” Nate calls out to him. 

He succeeds in getting Hardison’s attention, the kid’s head coming out of the truck. Hardison’s face screams annoyed. 

“You want me to change the labels on all these bottles?!” Hardison asks, belligerently. 

Nate huffs. “Not all the bottles,” he says. “Start with one crate for Sophie to sell to the buyer. Then do the top layers of the crates in the front. Blackpoole won’t  
check every box.”

“Oh,” Hardison says, sounding a little sheepish and rubbing his chin. 

Hardison hauls out one box, carrying it over to a sort of work table. Nate follows. He can’t resist taking one bottle out, seemingly examining its label. 

“You really think you can make as good a label?” Nate asks, purposefully goading. 

“What?” Hardison cries, immediately defensive. “Of course, I can. Who do you think makes all the stuff around here? I’ve been doin’ this since I was a kid.”

Interested, Nate sits down on the other side of the table. “You’ve been here?”

Hardison stops moving for a brief moment, looking at him with the same too-intelligent eyes that they all seem to have. 

“You tryin’ to figure us out,” Hardison asks teasingly, his hands already moving again. “Yeah, I’m an orphan. Bounced around to a few homes and ended up here. They’ve been good to me.”

“And they taught you?” Nate asks. 

“Oh, they taught me a ton of stuff, but I learned a lot on my own,” Hardison continues, now distracted by his work. 

Nate opens the bottle and takes a drink. Hardison slants dark eyes at him, but doesn’t say anything, continuing his work after the tiny pause. Nate just ignores it. He’s burnt out on sympathy. 

They’re mostly quiet after that. Well, Hardison is never quiet, but he’s talking mainly to himself and Nate easily tunes out his voice anyway. Nate is taking another sip from the bottle when Sophie walks up sometime in the afternoon. 

She immediately grabs the bottle from him, looking down at the bottle’s label. 

“That label hasn’t been changed,” Hardison says. 

But that fact doesn’t change the scowl on her face. “I think you’ve had enough,” she says before she’s turning to Hardison. “Is it almost ready?”

“Yes, now just hold, hold on,” Hardison says, finishing up. 

As soon as Hardison’s replacing the last bottle in the crate, Eliot is suddenly there, taking the crate from Hardison and putting in the back of one of the Carnival  
trucks. 

“You’ve got the room rented?” Nate asks. “And you’ll say you’ve hidden the rest of the shipment and meet him tomorrow?” he reiterates his instructions. 

“Yes,” she says with a great put-upon sigh. “I’ve got it.”

He turns to Hardison, about to ask about the other thing when he sees the kid handing over a bundle of papers to Eliot. That answers that question. 

“Alright, well,” he says vaguely. 

But they ignore him as Eliot opens the door to the truck for Sophie to climb in and then Eliot is nodding at him before hopping up into the driver’s side.

That leaves him alone with Hardison again. Hardison who’s now working on the other crates in the truck. He really hates waiting, and more than that, he hates that Sophie will be meeting with Blackpoole and he won’t be there. 

He’s reaching for the bottle again when suddenly Parker is there beside him. “You’re not going?” she asks. 

Trying to hold in his surprise at her, he asks, confused, “Going where?” 

“After them,” she says like it’s plain as day as she jingles a key ring in her hand. “I thought you’d want to listen.”

“LIsten? How?” he asks, feeling like he’s several steps behind in this conversation. 

“From the room next to Sophie’s” Parker says. “You wouldn’t let me steal anything else from that guy’s house, and I want to do more than just steal one tiny notebook.”

Closing his eyes for a moment, Nate opens them and agrees. She’s crazy but he wants to be there. 

Sensing his acquiescence, she runs toward another truck. “I’m driving!” she yells after. 

“Great, I’ll just stay here and do actual work,” Hardison grumbles. “It’s not like I wanted to go or anything!” he shouts after them as Nate climbs up into the cab. 

Parker drives like the hounds of hell itself are chasing them, but when she finally parks outside of a renting house, she’s giggling like a madwoman. Perhaps she is, he thinks. 

They pretend to be casual as they walk around to the back and then she’s scrabbling up the side of the brick building and climbing in a window. He waits until she  
unlocks the door on the back porch. There’s a back staircase there and they climb up to the second story. There are a few doors up here, but Parker heads straight for one and then she’s kneeling down, drawing out lock picks from her sleeve. 

It’s not like he’s never picked a lock before, he’s done it plenty of times to go to the bottom of a story, but she does it in no time flat. He’s impressed. 

As soon as it opens, they’re piling inside, Nate looking around one last time before locking the door behind them. When he turns around, Parker’s already rearranging the furniture, moving a small dressing table over from a connecting door.

He nods in agreement, realizing that that door must connect to the room that Sophie rented. He looks around and pulls over a chair only to see that she’s simply plopped won on the floor by the keyhole. He shakes his head minutely at her antics and sets the chair down at the door. His knees can’t handle getting down there anymore.

In the silence of waiting, he reminds himself that he needs to pay Sophie back the money for the room. He doesn’t have a lot of money now. After Maggie left, he didn’t really need it. Most times, he passes out at the bar, so he sold the damn thing and all the memories that it had. He doesn’t admit that he also needed money to continue to go to the bar. 

He doesn’t have a lot of money but he doubts Sophie makes a lot reading fortunes at the Carnival. He has no idea if any of her previous schemes ever really paid off. 

He’s still thinking about it, when he hears footsteps on the stairs. He assumes the clacking of heels is Sophie and the deliberately soft scuffing sound must be Eliot playing her bodyguard. He didn’t want Sophie in there alone. 

The sounds from the other room come across the thin wall clearly, but Sophie and Eliot aren’t talking. There’s only the sound of cloth and the squeaking of the mattress. 

Now the time seems to drag by as they wait for Blackpoole to show. Sophie murmurs occasionally but Eliot makes soft grunting noises in response. Nate wishes that he had brought that bottle. 

An interminable amount of time later, he hears the sound of footsteps again, definitely male and not worried about being heard. Nate would guess Blackpoole isn’t happy. His shipment didn’t come and then someone moving in on his territory all in one day. 

There’s a knock on the door and a brief pause. Then Nate hears the sounds of a brief scuffle before Blackpoole’s indignant cry and the sharp sound of the door closing. 

“Get your hands off me,” Blackpoole commands and Nate wishes that he could see Eliot manhandling the big buffoon. 

There’s a shudder of the furniture that seems to indicate Eliot complying and pushing Blackpoole into a seat.

“Now, now,” Sophie soothes the ruffled feathers, using a New York accent. “We weren’t expecting anyone. Sorry about the welcome.”

“You’re lucky that I didn’t bring my men here despite being in the middle of town. You’re on my turf,” Blackpoole accuses. 

“Am I?” she asks. “Well, I think it belongs to whoever has the best deal, and that would be me.”

Blackpoole scoffs. “You really think you can just waltz in here and take my business and waltz out? After you leave, my men will pay everyone you sold to a visit. Believe me, you won’t be able to sell here again.”

“Well, I heard that your shipment didn’t even come,” Sophie goads him. 

Blackpoole sputters, giving the answer away without even speaking. 

“Doesn’t seem like your supplier is reliable, leaving you with only moonshine to sell to the lower class,” she says. “Whereas my shipments are on time and they’re  
cheaper.”

“How?” he asks. “How are you selling them cheaper?” Blackpoole’s business curiosity outweighs his anger at being undercut. 

Nate can just imagine the smug look on Sophie’s face. “Better shipping routes,” she says simply. “Even after we pay the mob to come through the port, it’s still cheaper.”

Nate waits with bated breath. If Blackpoole needs more information, Eliot knows many of the routes. Blackpoole has to believe the line. 

“I could just buy the shipments off of you,” Blackpoole finally says. “And sell the crates at the usual price.”

“Good idea,” Sophie coos. “Bigger profit for you, and I don’t have to come all the way out to this backwater town.”

Blackpoole laughs and it’s obvious that he’s on the hook. Nate doesn’t know whether he feels like laughing or crying about it. But he doesn’t feel relieved. There are still too many things that could go wrong, too many things to think about, to plan. Everything has to go perfectly tomorrow. 

Nate isn’t listening as Sophie makes plans to meet Blackpoole tomorrow with the rest of the shipment. He runs over possible scenarios in his head until Parker is poking at him and he hears Blackpoole’s steps going down the stairs. 

“We’ll see you two later,” Sophie whispers through the door. 

Nate doesn’t even want to know how she knew they were there. He and Parker simply sneak back out, leaving Sophie and Eliot there. They make a stop on the way to pick up Nate's sad suitcase of clothes.

Parker runs off to god knows where as soon as they arrive back at the Carnival, but Nate walks sedately. Being this close to actually getting revenge on that bastard brings the whole incident to the forefront of his mind. Now he can’t escape it and it’s too much. He keeps replaying the scene in his mind, his son broken and bleeding on the small bed and him not able to do a single thing about it. This has to go perfectly but it’s too much, too much pressure because what if it doesn’t? What if Blackpoole gets away with the whole thing still?

Hardison is still tinkering around with the crate as Nate walks past to grab a bottle. He doesn’t even feel bad about taking it this time. Nate heads back to the tent where he’s been sleeping and ends up drunk by the time that the lights and sounds of the carnival start up. He doesn’t think that anyone comes looking for him that night but he’s not sure that he would have noticed anyway. He just wants to not think for a while.

The next morning dawns bright and painful. Nate’s sprawled across the small bed and the bottle’s empty. Still Nate tips the bottle up, tries to get to the last drop before he groans and sits up. There’s fresh water on the table so someone obviously came in and saw him in his drunken stupor but Nate’s feeling too bad to care. 

He washes his mouth out three or four times, spitting it on the dusty, dry ground at the edge of the tent and then washes up as best he can and changes his clothes. Today’s the day and he debates hiding in the tent for a little bit longer, but he wants some coffee. He wants to get on with it. He also wants a little more alcohol.

Stumbling outside, he lifts one hand to shield his eyes and makes a bee line for the food tent. He’s not sure how he feels that he knows the Carnival so well now. He doesn't even blink when he passes the Chase sisters, arms still around one another. 

Everyone is waiting for him there. Sophie is nursing a cup of coffee and making a face at the taste. Hardison is shoveling in the food as if he can’t taste how bad it is and Parker is simply sucking a piece of penny candy. He can only hope that she did eat something else for breakfast. 

He meets Eliot at the coffee pot. Eliot is pouring hot water over tea leaves rather than drinking the coffee. Eliot clearly gives him a once over but thankfully, doesn’t say anything about how shitty Nate knows that he looks. 

Eliot goes to the table first, situating himself and leaving Nate to be the last one. Everyone is looking at him for direction as he lifts one leg over the bench seat and sits down. 

“Alright,” he says in greeting, taking a sip of the scalding brew that’s so thick it could probably stand up without the cup. “Timing is everything today.”

He turns to Sophie then, who’s looking at him as if she’s feeling sorry for him, and this is definitely not the time. This is the time to be professional. 

“Sophie, you get back into the renting house and then leave from there to meet Eliot at the warehouse. Hardison, drop off Eliot and then stay back from the warehouse as a lookout. Parker, you’re with me.” Finished, Nate stood up, throwing back the rest of the coffee. 

Sophie looked like she wanted to have a talk but Nate shepherded Parker away immediately. 

“So what’s up?” Parker asks him, leaning too close and staring at him with beady eyes. 

“I need you to get me eyes in the warehouse,” Nate says. 

Parker smiles immediately, clapping her hands and Nate can’t resist looking around to make sure Sophie isn’t spying on them. “Great,” Parker crows with a  
mischievous twinkle in her eye. “I have something to do myself.”

She’s pulling him bodily towards the truck and jumping before Nate has really had any time to think or ask what other errand she has. 

The engine roars to life, spitting out dust and diesel, and they pull out. Nate grips the open window, to keep himself in his seat. They park a little was away from the warehouse and then hurry into a back entrance. 

Once inside, Parker pushes him up a very old wooden ladder leading up to the rafters. She hurries him into a shadowy alcove just before they hear the roar of a truck.  
“I’ll be back,” she says as soon as he’s situated. 

“What?” he asks, but she’s already gone and she doesn’t go down the ladder they just climbed. 

The truck of booze pulls into the warehouse and then Eliot gets out, closing the doors. The long-haired man takes a walk around the truck, looking like he’s stretching his legs but Nate knows that he’s actually scanning the building. Nate also knows that Eliot sees him by the slight twitch in Eliot’s lips. But then Eliot simply goes back to the truck, leaning on the bumper with his arms crossed to wait. 

Nate feels balanced on a knife’s edge as he settles in himself. 

But really, it’s not long before there’s the sound of another car pulling up outside and then Sophie walks in. Sophie doesn’t look around but goes straight to Eliot.  
And then the sound of a few vehicles pull up and Blackpoole walks in. 

The sound doesn’t carry perfectly up to the roof of the warehouse and so Nate isn’t sure of their exact words but Blackpoole and Sophie greet each other politely at the very least. From there things take a turn, though. 

He can’t tell what happens but Blackpoole seems to get upset, his voice getting loud enough for Nate to hear if not to make out the words. Eliot gets up from his position of feigned indifference, but his sharp eyes aren’t on Blackpoole, but flicking between the warehouse’s two doors. 

Suddenly both doors are opening and men are rushing in. Nate realizes that Eliot is going to be immediately overwhelmed and then he looks over to see Blackpoole now has Sophie’s arm in a firm grip, pulling her over to the truck of booze to get away. 

Nate starts scurrying down from his hiding spot immediately, but unfortunately, he’s not that coordinated on the best of days, much less that today is not the best of days. 

His speed is impeded also as he keeps pausing to look at the scene below. Eliot spins a broken piece of wood that he’s picked up somewhere and gestures to the first guy. He takes out the first guy easily with one blow of the make-shift weapon, but then two guys attack at once. Eliot takes a blow to his stomach and his face before he puts both men down. But Blackpoole’s men keep coming.

Nate’s gaze flicks over to Sophie in time to see her punch Blackpoole square in the face. He lets her arm go and bends over to hold his nose. 

Relieved that at least Blackpoole isn’t getting away immediately, Nate hurries to climb down again when he hears the sound of more cars outside, definitely the FBI from the nearby base that they had alerted to the alcohol sale. 

Spitefully, Nate’s first instinct is to look back at Blackpoole to make sure his boss isn’t going to get away, instead of worrying for the four people that might go down with Blackpoole because of him. 

Blackpoole is still trying to get up as Eliot knocks out the last guy. Nate reaches them as Eliot is ushering Sophie towards the back door. They hurry away from the building just as the FBI are pulling around the building, moving into the small crowd that’s gathered at the commotion. They don’t stay with the crowd though, but make their way to Hardison’s car. They weave through the people that have gathered to watch as the FBI surround the building. 

Eliot yells at Hardison to go as soon as he jumps in the back last. But Nate stops the kid with a hand on Hardison’s shoulder. He can’t go, even now, even with all of these people depending on him. He needs to see Blackpoole be arrested. He doesn’t have to wait long. 

The truck with alcohol bursts out of the warehouse’s doors only to immediately stop at the barricade of FBI cars. Nate almost laughs at how stupid Blackpoole is to think he could still get away with the shipment. FBI men then swarm the truck’s cab and then Ian Blackpoole is pulled out and handcuffed against the side of the truck, watched not only by Nate but by quite a few of the townspeople passing by. It’s not enough. It doesn’t fill the aching emptiness in his chest. But it does feel good, in that vengeful place that does fill him up sometimes. He’s just glad that Maggie isn’t here to see him like this. 

And then Parker hops in the back alongside Eliot. 

“Girl, where have you been?” Hardison starts in. “You missed all the good stuff.”

“I did not miss the good stuff,” she huffs and then opens up the knapsack that she’s carrying. She pulls out wads of money. 

They’re all stunned. 

“Where did you…?” Sophie starts, sounding hesitant to know the answer. 

“Blackpoole,” Parker says like it’s the most obvious answer in the world. “You said I couldn’t steal anything during the con, but now it’s over!” she chirps happily. 

They’re all silent for a minute, and then Hardison is letting out a whoop of victory, only then remembering how close they are to the FBI and turning the car on to get them out of there. 

They’re all in a great mood as they pile out of the truck back at the Carnival. Parker pokes at Eliot’s ribs and Eliot growls back at her, not that it intimidates her at all. Eliot holds his side as they walk and Hardison runs behind them, wanting to see how much money Parker stole. 

Sophie lays a gentle hand on Nate’s shoulder, comforting even though he doesn’t want to be comforted. She squeezes once and then walks ahead of him, following the three others still squabbling. 

Still as they walk through the crowds of the towns people come to the Carnival for its last night, the air of revelry does seem to rub on him as well. All the crowds looking for something different and exciting, wanting to immerse themselves in it before going back to their nice safe lives and telling themselves how much better they are than Carnies. But are they? How do they not see the evil even in their midst, Nate wonders. How did he not see?

They end up at one of the picnic tables in the food area. As it gets darker, the crowds get louder around them, but the sound seems muffled, like they’re in a cocoon of just them, the team. Eliot brings out another bottle that he must have squirreled away from the shipment and they all drink, though Nate keeps drinking after the others. Still he’s not really drunk tonight as he watches the four of them. 

Hardison has separated the piles of cash and now is making eyes at Parker despite her complete obliviousness. She’s smelling her money with a manic look in her eye, not listening as the young man tries to explain some engineering thing to her. But they both look happy together even though they don’t understand one another. Eliot sits on the opposite side from them, making fun of Hardison in that big brother way, dry words and flat expression, and sometimes Parker laughs though it’s obvious she doesn’t understand Eliot either and sometimes she pokes at the red mark on Eliot’s arm that will become a bruise. 

They look like kids, perhaps the childhood that the three of them didn’t have or perhaps the childhood that they’re trying to recapture. It leaves him and Sophie set a bit apart, much less animated. 

He’s only sipping his drink and she’s trailing one perfectly elegant finger around the rim of her glass. But the worry isn’t there in her eyes, she looks relaxed. Slowly she lifts amused eyes to watch the trio at the end of the table and then she looks over at Nate, her eyes still warm. 

When she stands up he moves to follow immediately, unbidden but he knows he’s welcome. They don’t touch as they walk to the tent that he’s taken over without asking. They walk all the way to the bed in silence, putting their glasses down on the small bedside table before turning to one another. 

Nate has to swallow hard. He wants her, but he knows it’s not a good idea. It can’t be. But he can’t leave, can’t resist her. She offers him what he needs but doesn’t want. 

He moves toward her seemingly without conscious effort and then his hands are cradling her face. Her eyes are dark and warm and triumphant. He almost laughs, of course, she’d think she’s won, but instead he presses a first close-mouthed kiss to her lips. 

It’s barely a touch, but it’s an answer to an unasked question. They part and Sophie’s hands are immediately on the buttons of her dress. She’s pushing it off her shoulders, wiggling the material down her hips until she’s standing there in just a cream colored silk sheath. It’s molded to her body and he can see the curve of her breasts, the dark rose of her nipples through it. 

He’s stripping off his white button-down as quickly as he can, tit for tat and all that. But it’s barely down his forearms when he’s grabbing for her again. One hand rests on her waist and the other is on the back of her neck, pulling her in, pulling her lips to his. She opens to him, plush feminine lips soft and sweet, the faint taste of lipstick and the smell of her perfume. 

But the kiss isn’t perfect. He wants her to let him lead, but he should have known that she’s not usually one to give up control. Neither is he. He presses harder against her, wanting her to submit to him but she presses back, wanting his kisses to be gentler, deeper. 

They push and pull and neither will give in. Nate has both hands on her waist now, ready to just pick her up and put her on the bed in his frustration. 

But then they’re startled apart by the noise of someone entering their tent. 

It’s Eliot and Nate has to look away. He has nothing to be embarrassed of and yet he is because of his past thoughts of Eliot, the way that he has stared at the young man. Awkwardly, he clears his throat, trying to think of something to say, not that he needs to explain himself. 

“Oh, no, I’ll…” Eliot starts, seemingly already backing out of the tent. 

“Eliot, come here,” Sophie interrupts, her voice firm but seductive. 

Nate is startled into looking up at them and he sees the way that Eliot looks to him for confirmation. Eliot is going to obey her but now without his assent. 

It causes something hot to unfurl in his belly, the feeling of being in control tingling along his nerves. 

Eliot walks over to them and Sophie’s smiling that cat got the cream grin. Her hand threads through Eliot’s long hair, pulling him close as Nate just watches them  
from a half-step away. Sophie’s eyes meet his in challenge.

“Kiss me,” she whispers, practically against Eliot’s mouth. 

But it’s Nate’s mouth that goes dry at the sight of them together. They’re almost the same height but Eliot is broad and muscular. Eliot’s hands are gentle as they cup Sophie’s face. She’s leading the younger man, Nate can tell. 

It’s wrong and that just makes Nate lust over them more. He’s just starting to realize he’s being left out and jealous when Sophie pulls away from Eliot’s mouth. She turns the younger man gently, and then she’s looking at Nate. 

“Kiss him,” she says, that same tone of voice that she uses on the mark, but Nate doesn’t call her on it when his eyes can’t seem to move from the red sheen on Eliot’s mouth. 

Eliot doesn’t move and that’s when Nate realizes that she was talking to him. He briefly glances at her, sees her eyes black with lust and knows that she’s serious. She’s inviting Eliot to bed with them.

He’s surprised at himself, but they both seem entirely comfortable with the idea of two men kissing and in front of Sophie whom he’s been dancing around since forever. But his hand is in Eliot’s soft hair before he knows it. He pulls and Eliot simply gives, Eliot’s head falling back, his throat exposed, his lips open and ready.  
Nate plunges inside Eliot’s soft mouth, too hard, too fast, but Eliot doesn’t mind, doesn’t push back like Nate knows the young man can. 

Nate forces Eliot’s mouth open wider, reveling in the power he seems to have over this incredibly powerful man. But then he feels something brush against his hand.  
Pulling away, Nate’s breathing hard as he focuses back on the fact that Sophie is here too. She’s unbuttoning Eliot’s shirt, revealing tan skin as Eliot shoves it off.  
Nate’s hands are on Eliot’s chest as Sophie steps up to the two men, kissing Nate’s mouth. It’s easier now, now that they’ve both gotten the submission they needed from Eliot. It makes him forget about his embarrassment at her seeing him with a man.

Too soon, she’s twisting away from him. He blinks to figure out what’s happening and realizes that she’s falling back onto the spare mattress. He watches as she’s pulling Eliot over her. Eliot puts one knee on the mattress, leaving Nate staring at his perfectly round backside. 

Nate’s watching his hands as they land on Eliot’s ass, smoothing over the curve of it. He’s riveted as Eliot arches back into him without taking his mouth from Sophie’s. Gently, Nate sweeps Eliot’s hair from one shoulder. The scars are standing out, glinting in the half-light, but Eliot doesn’t try to cover them now. Just lets Nate suck on his neck, watching Sophie over Eliot’s shoulder. She’s directing Eliot’s hands cupping her small breasts through the silk, thumbs brushing over her dark nipples. 

Nate doesn’t notice her hands undoing Eliot’s pants until they’re slipping down Eliot’s thighs, revealing more flesh to Nate’s wandering hands. Nate doesn’t even question how far he’s going, how a man is between him and a woman he’s attracted to. It feels right, easy in a way nothing has in so long. He pushes down Eliot’s pants, his hands roaming over the curve of Eliot’s ass, the dip of his pelvis where it reaches his leg, the wiry short hairs…

Squeezing his eyes tightly shut, Nate buries his face in Eliot’s hot neck as his hand grips Eliot’s cock. Nate strokes the other man as he would stroke himself, curled around Eliot’s back it feels almost natural. 

Eliot’s whimpering, low and frantic and Sophie is moaning on the bed and their combined voices have Nate opening his eyes again. Eliot’s hands have stilled under Sophie’s skirt. Nate has enough presence of mind to push down his own pants. 

Now when he presses back against Eliot, his cock slips between those ripe cheeks. He’s not exactly sure what he’s doing but he can’t help thrusting through that space with increasing intensity. 

Eliot’s whining now desperately, thrusting back like he wants something else. It’s not until Sophie’s fingers are there again, pressing on the skin behind Eliot’s balls causing Eliot to jerk like he’s been punched. Then her fingers are moving even further back. 

Nate helpfully pulls apart Eliot’s cheeks so he can watch her small hands, her elegant finger pressing against the dark furled muscle of Eliot’s hole. Slowly it presses in and Nate knows enough to know that it’s dry and Eliot’s breath hitches but he lets her press it all the way in. 

“In the cabinet, first drawer,” Eliot breathes out the words seeming to cost him what little air that he has. 

Nate hates to move away from Eliot’s heat, hates to lose sight of the two of them together. He fumbles in the drawer, shoving things aside until he finds a jar of slick. 

When he turns back, Eliot’s hips are moving, rolling a little just at that tiny finger inside him. Nate wastes no time pressing his slick finger in alongside Sophie’s.

The way that Eliot moves with them, his body begging even if his voice only makes cut off plaintive sounds, Nate can’t believe how Eliot lets them press inside him like this. Nate is adding a second finger even as Sophie is pulling hers out. 

Sophie pulls Eliot’s head down towards her but it’s clear that he can’t concentrate anymore and then Nate is burying his free hand back in that hair and pulling Eliot’s head back, pulling Eliot’s body back into his fingers. 

Nate’s got three fingers inside Eliot, stroking the hot insides of the man when he sees Sophie lifting up her skirt, revealing pale soft thighs. He releases Eliot’s hair just in time for Sophie to direct Eliot’s hands up her thighs. Nate watches as Eliot’s strong arms lifts pale hips, glimpse of dark pubic hair and then Sophie is crying out and throwing her head back onto the pillow. 

“Fuck him, Nate,” she says breathlessly, her dark eyes full of laughter. 

Nate doesn’t need to be told twice. He holds Eliot’s hips still and then presses inside. But he doesn’t get far. Eliot’s so much hotter, tighter than a woman, dryer. It takes him a few thrusts before he can get all the way inside. And the whole time he can just barely distinguish Eliot and Sophie’s voices both encouraging him in different ways. 

God, everything is different. All the way in, flush to Eliot’s body, everything’s different as he smooths his hands up the broad muscular back underneath him. He wants to trace the scars but fortunately thinks better of it. When he moves, Eliot moves with him, pressing back for his thrusts no matter how hard. Two voices are moaning and groaning and crying out. Somehow, Eliot is softening his own thrusts inside Sophie, giving it to her the way that she wants even as he accepts all of Nate’s hard punishment. 

Somehow they have a rhythm, a rhythm of push and pull and give and take and a harmony of sounds. The rhythm increases, Nate’s desperation bubbling up in his chest, mixing with the pleasure in his gut. Sophie’s calves are beside Eliot’s hips and Nate touches them, running his hands up practically to where Eliot and Sophie are joined. He fucks into Eliot harder, his hands on the bed beside Sophie, his chest pressed to Eliot’s sweaty back. 

Sophie comes first, crying out high and clear. Eliot pulls out, fisting his cock, Nate watches as he keeps fucking him. Sophie’s head lolls on the bed, but Eliot feels suddenly strung tight, shuddering underneath him. Nate wraps his arms around the man, pulling Eliot back into his hard thrusts even as Eliot is coming, jerking and crying out, sounding almost pained. Eliot comes on the bed between Sophie’s legs like he’s careful of her clothes, but Nate comes inside Eliot, his thrusts becoming suddenly wet, sliding easier in and out. 

Nate’s practically collapsed against Eliot’s strong back, panting, Eliot’s sweat making his cheek wet. But then Eliot’s gentle hands are pulling him around, pulling his dick out of its tight hole with a pop. In the blink of an eye, Nate is lying on the bed beside Sophie, her soft pale arms holding him. 

It takes him a moment to realize that Eliot’s not there. But Sophie’s already on it, her free hand motioning at Eliot firmly. Eliot seems sheepish, confused, but he comes and then Sophie is pulling the younger man down between them. 

Nate himself is a little apprehensive, but then, Sophie’s snuggling in and Eliot’s skin is still warm. Sophie’s arm reaches across to trail lightly over Nate’s own and he finds himself pulling closer to Eliot, laying his own arm across Eliot’s side. 

For the first night in a long time, Nate falls asleep instead of just passes out. 

When Nate wakes, it’s to the feel of sleep-warmed soft skin and cool silk. It takes him a moment to open his eyes and see Sophie there, her fingers idly stroking his arm even though her eyes are still closed. She never was a morning person. But there’s something missing. 

The slightest rustle of cloth causes Nate looks up to see Eliot moving from a chair towards the opening of the tent, looking to sneak out with a book in his hand. 

“You were watching us sleep?” Nate asks, hearing his own voice sound rough from disuse. 

Eliot’s eyes are shuttered, but Nate doesn’t even wait for the man to come up with some excuse when he’s pulling the covers back. “Get in,” he says in a firm voice. “And take off your shirt.”

Some small tension bleeds out of Eliot’s frame and then he’s pulling off his shirt. There’s a bruise on his stomach now and on his right cheek. And then Eliot’s sliding in, strong arms are cradling Nate and Sophie. 

Nate sighs. He doesn’t know what to do. He just coaxed Eliot back into bed, but this isn’t supposed to be a thing. The Carnival will move on today and he’ll go back to being the town drunk because even if Blackpoole did finally get what he deserved, it doesn’t change anything, not really. He doesn’t belong with these people, with Carnies and freaks and thieves and a womanandaman. He can’t love again. He has to protect his heart because he can’t survive another loss. 

Still he wants to hold onto this as long as he can. He dozes but all too soon Eliot is pulling himself back out, swearing that he has to help the other rousties take everything down. 

“Including this tent,” Eliot says, peeling their fingers off of him. “I suppose this is why y’all chose my tent to get started in last night.”

“Your tent,” Nate asks, suddenly. He can’t decide which is more disconcerting, that Sophie brought him to Eliot’s tent to seduce him or that he’s been sleeping every night in Eliot’s bed. 

Sophie just puts her dress back on with a sheepish smile, gives them both a kiss and disappears to her own trailer to clean up. Nate takes a long while splashing his face with water before he tries to get dressed. 

He feels flustered as he wanders outside the tent, an outsider amidst the flurry of the carnies, a center of stillness amidst chaos. It’s all over. It was fun, the camaraderie, the challenge of the con, the justification of it all. And now it’s over. 

“You know, I never had that much fun working on a sideshow act,” Hardison is suddenly at his right shoulder, walking just behind him. 

“It was just one time,” Nate says, not looking back the younger man. 

“And I have a hard time concentrating on just one thing, but you…”

And then Parker pops in at his other side. “I’m really good at one thing..”

“Parker,” Nate says in warning. 

But she just keeps talking. “Only one thing, but you, you know other things and they won’t let me steal unless…” she rambles. 

Eliot falls into step with Nate like he belongs there. “You want to know what I think?” he starts by asking. 

“Not really,” Nate answers, frustrated at these people thinking they know what’s best for him. 

“How long before you fall apart again?” Eliot asks, with that honesty that sometimes Nate hates. 

“Oh, I’m touched,” Nate says, knowing that none of them are listening and only distressed by how he’s thinking about actually giving in. 

“You need the chase,” Eliot continues. 

Unsurprisingly, he’s been walking toward Sophie’s trailer the whole time. She sees them coming and descends the steps of her trailer, sauntering towards him, knowing how to move so that he can only focus on her. 

“You pick the jobs,” she offers. 

“I find bad guys,” Nate says. 

“Well, then go find some bad guys,” she says, turning her face away as she moves closer, letting him smell her perfume. 

When Nate climbs up into the truck’s cab, squished between Eliot and Sophie, he tells himself. It’s temporary. But he knows as they roll on down the road, that none of them will ever be the same again.


End file.
